December 13, 1999 Okay, so, I decide that I've been away from this little journal long enough. What the heck, I have a day off - no work, school is done for the year, I have no excuses. Now I have to remember how to use this HTML editor of mine - for the record, probably THE most user-unfriendly piece of software known to peoplekind. First things first. Add a new page. I venture into the page architecture set up thingy and am astonished to find that my last entry was dated November 25. What the heck have I been doing for two and half weeks? I wish I could list off at least one or two monumental accomplishments that would validate such an absence. Um, no can do. I'm not even going to try and come up with some reasons pliable enough to placate my two avid readers, just suffice it to say I was in a slump, or had writer's block, or was planning out an elaborate hall decking that just this past weekend came to fruition. (okay, okay, so I came up with some reasons.....just pick one and we can be done with it, deal?) Hall decking...yes folks, Christmas has exploded once again right here in my little house. I fought it this year, that yuletide urge that sees me dragging cobweb infested boxes from storage, the festive spirit that seems to hit me smack dab between the eyes every December 1. I really did fight it. Dug in my heels, I did. Told myself that I had had just about enough of 1999 and was in no mood to celebrate what had turned out to be another 365 days of mere existence. But despite my efforts, the subtle reminders of my cat, going through tree decoration batting withdrawal, got the better of me. "If I don't see a piece of tinsel to gnaw on within the next 48 hours one of us is going to live to regret it." "Oh yes, Rem, like you've EVER eaten tinsel! That was your sister's gig, and she's not here this Christmas, remember??" "Semantics." "And the ribbon chewing, and bow biting...that was her deal too, kiddo." "Sure, but what about the bobbles, missy? You know how much I love lying under that fake little tree of ours and taking pot shots at the little stuffed reindeer on a string, don't you?" "Um, yeah, I remember, buddy. Your cat spit is still all over half the decorations in the box." "Well then, hop to it! I have some catching up to do. You're already a week behind." In a moment of what I'm sure was a lapse of consciousness, I dragged out the boxes. I did this while talking on the phone to boot. No meagre feat I tell ya. My boxes are stored in that big gaping hole that sits quietly, year round, beneath the stairs. It a huge void that probably accounts for a full third of my total square footage and yet receives not even so much as a passing glance January through November. Yet there I was, phone crooked between ear and shoulder, gabbing away while fighting eleven months of dust bunnies, low ceilings, and the dreaded Christmas monster. Ha! The Christmas monster. Any of you who partake in Christmas have one - unless you're Martha Stewart, but somehow I don't think Martha has discovered my journal yet (not because I haven't sent her countless e-mails with a link to my page, mind you).The Christmas monster, aptly named by my pal Greg a few years back when he was living with me, is that tall narrow box that holds the long tubing of Christmas wrap. Of course, down in the depths of this box live the neatly (ahem) folded pieces of wrap that have been saved by the ghosts of Christmas past. And tangled in amongst the paper are the yards and yards of ribbon, ties, bows, tags, fabric poinsettia's, gold filagree, silver balls, and a variety of other gift adornments that just seemed too pretty to pass up at the time. The monster has a life of its own. Each year it seems to have propagated. No matter how much I take out and use, there is more the following year. It's a phenomenon that I am far too afraid to even begin to investigate. Had the girls over for our pre-Christmas dinner last night. I tackled chicken cordon-bleu. I had a recipe but it didn't look very good so I went surfing. I'm amazed at how many different recipes for chicken cordon-bleu there are, and those are just the ones on the Internet. I found a great chicken page. The recipes can be printed to fit on 3x5 or 5x7 recipe cards. Very cool. Dinner went well, but I had to roll the girls out of my house. We ate way too much. Arlie just called and told me she's still "enjoying" the meal. She'll be adding TP to her shopping list, I'm sure! Sorry Ar. When you don't have a lot of money for Christmas shopping you find yourself turning to your own resources. Needless to say I've been whiling away the past few weeks drawing and painting. What I'll do when everyone runs out of wall space is anyone's guess. Oh, and a little note about school. I have to stop going. A very sad decision. But, alas, I find myself in need of more hours in which to work so the landlady doesn't toss me into the cold, winter streets. I've applied for a full-time job. I'll try school by correspondence for a while. Hm...work full time, school at night. I will have to learn to sleep less so I can keep writing. Darn if I didn't like sleep so much. And I'm delighted to report that Dan is back in the saddle. Was feeling like I had this big ol' hole in my life. Not anymore. As Martha would say, this is a good thing. ps...sorry about the spinning backgroud, didn't know it was animated and am just too lazy to change it now. home back ahead